


Family Business

by stewardess



Series: Already Crazy [8]
Category: Boondock Saints (1999), Bravo Two Zero (1999)
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-18
Updated: 2004-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stewardess/pseuds/stewardess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Murphy, age seventeen, go north to learn the family business, which turns out not to be dairy farming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Introducing Andy MacNeil, who looks suspiciously like Andy McNab in _Bravo Two Zero_.
> 
> Regarding SAS Agent Andy McNab of _Bravo Two Zero_: Assuming the twins were twenty-seven in 1999 (movie verse), they were teenagers when Andy was undercover in Northern Ireland in the late 1980s.
> 
> The twins are FPS, the creation of Troy Duffy. Andy McNab is a real person, but the Andy in this story is fifty percent the character as played by Sean Bean in the film _Bravo Two Zero_ and fifty percent my imagination. The only thing that is "true" is that Andy McNab worked undercover for two years in Northern Ireland in the late 1980s, and that he was in the SAS. Everything else I made up, although I've used a number of tidbits from the McNab autobiographies to supply "color."

Murphy looked at Connor, trying to get his worry across. Ten at night, when she was completely paralytic, wasn't a good time to be talking to Ma.

She was rambling on about their summer jobs, telling them for the first time that they would be working in Northern Ireland, on a farm which belonged to relatives of Da's. Relatives they had never met.

They knew nothing of farming, and they didn't want to learn. Country folk were thick as planks, anyway.

It'd be crazy to go north with the Blessed Mother on their necks. And now they had a Celtic cross to join her. They'd be the targets of every Ulsterman they met.

But most of all, there was the unanswered question: _Could we sleep in the same room?_

Connor took hold of Ma's shoulders and steered her toward her bedroom. "We'll talk in the morning, Ma. At breakfast."

Ma wriggled loose. "Nothing to talk about! You're going, and that's final!"

There was no point in arguing with her. She might not even remember what they talked about, come morning.

* * *

As the bus pulled away, Murphy thought: _We are fucked._

Ma hadn't seen them off. In the last days before their departure, she had turned morose, as if she didn't want them to go. She had said their Da would have wanted them to, but she didn't seem to believe it herself.

Although Ma called their relatives in Northern Ireland Uncle Ryan and Aunt Rachel, Uncle Ryan was really a first cousin of their Da's. His wife, Rachel, was no relation of theirs by blood.

Ma had met them briefly when she had gone north several months back. Her memory of useful facts such as their ages and appearance was sketchy, as usual.

At least he and Connor had spoken briefly to Uncle Ryan by telephone. He had promised to pay them well, work them hard, and give them time off to see the sights. They'd be staying in the family farmhouse, which was not encouraging. Farmhouses were, in their limited experience, drafty buildings with tiny rooms, low ceilings, and no modern conveniences.

The bus stopped for a ten minute break. The facilities were besieged, so they went out back and had a piss in the field behind.

They were still in the Republic. After they crossed the border, they would have less than fifty miles to go.

* * *

Murphy woke up with his head on Connor's shoulder. Connor had claimed the window seat, and Murphy had been too tired to fight about it.

"Look lively now," Connor whispered.

Murphy sat up and rubbed his face. They were at the border. It should be no problem to cross, unless the police or the army were looking for someone.

Murphy adjusted the neck of his white cotton roll neck to make sure his tattoo of the Blessed Mother was hidden. The long-sleeved shirt wasn't comfortable in the warmish weather, but it kept him from looking so fucking Catholic. Connor was wearing the same.

They were both in dark blue blazers and "good" jeans: new, unfaded, and without holes. Their hair had been recently cut, not that it mattered. Connor's hair still went up every which way, while Murphy's went down every which way.

"You look like a fucken baby," Murphy said.

Connor slapped the side of his head. "What the fuck do you think _you_ look like?"

Murphy rested his head again on Connor's hard shoulder, and slept.

* * *

Cookstown wasn't big enough to rate a bus station, so they were dropped off by a post office. Aunt Rachel, driving a brand-new Land Rover, picked them up in a nearby car park. She chatted non-stop as she drove, pointing out everything she thought might be of interest to them. As it was mostly cows and more cows, they had plenty of time to look her over instead.

She was petite, in her early thirties, her body oddly shapeless. Her hair was brown, her skin very pale except for her rosy face. She was dressed plainly, in jeans, T-shirt, wind cheater, and boots.

The farm was only twelve miles from Cookstown, but they weren't traveling in anything like a straight line. At last Rachel pointed the farmhouse out to them, a forbiddingly ancient-looking building on a small rise. Long, rectangular, and built of stone, it was two stories in height. She made several turns on the convoluted roads, then pulled up on a gravel drive next to a small rose garden.

"Ryan and the rest should be in soon for three o'clock tea," she said.

Leaving their bags in the Rover for now, they entered the farmhouse and blinked in surprise. They were standing in an enormous modern kitchen, with a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, and a huge Aga, the model that also heated water.

Whatever else happened, it looked like they'd have a comfortable stay. Murphy permitted himself a small grin at Connor.

After washing their hands at the kitchen sink, they helped Rachel prepare "tea," which was like no tea they had ever seen. Egg and mayonnaise sandwiches, ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches, three kinds of cupcakes, biscuits, pickles, and fruit. While they were laying it out on the dining room table, two men and a young woman entered the farmhouse.

The girl was about their age, seventeen, maybe a year older. Her long brown hair was laced with dried grass, and her clothes were muddy. She was taller than average, five seven, and overly thin. She had a guileless, pretty face, as if she had never experienced a moment's suffering.

The two men, both smelling faintly of cow, represented the two extremes of the Irish. One was tall, blond, with pale green eyes, a descendent of the Northmen who had raided the shores of Ireland for centuries. The other was of average height, black-haired, with a round face and hooded hazel eyes. His resemblance to Murphy made his identity clear.

"Mind your boots!" Rachel said.

The three arrivals ignored her and sat at the table and began to eat straightaway.

Following their example, Murphy put one of everything on his plate. After eating two sandwiches and drinking a mug of tea, the black-haired man addressed them.

"Which of you is Connor, and which of you is Murphy?"

"I'm Connor," Connor said.

"He's Connor," Murphy said at the same time.

The man laughed. "I'm your cousin Ryan. This is Andy MacNeil, and this is Leanne Brown, my niece. She's Rachel's brother's daughter."

Murphy forced himself to look at the girl. She was looking at him, so he switched his gaze to Andy MacNeil, who grinned at him. Murphy studied the food on his plate.

"Your first time north?" Andy asked.

"Aye," Connor said. "So far, we love the food."

Rachel muttered, "It's nothing."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "What do you mean, it's nothing, woman? You've been baking for three days! And decorating, shopping, cleaning for a month before that! You went mad!"

Murphy tensed, and felt Connor tense beside him, expecting a row.

Rachel only smiled in response. "And who's driven me mad?"

Andy laughed while Ryan mock-scowled. Leanne smiled and steadily demolished the food on her plate.

Murphy returned to eating, and managed to respond when Leanne asked him to pass her the butter, which was a large unformed chunk in a bowl, not something that had come from a store.

They were on a dairy farm. Rachel had pointed out the milking barn to them, which was only a hundred feet from the farmhouse, and they had seen nothing but green fields infested with cows after they left Cookstown.

Half an hour later, Ryan, Andy, and Leanne returned to their work. Rachel said they would be back at six for supper.

She took them upstairs to show them their guest room. It ran the full width of an end of the house, so it had windows on three sides. Best of all, it was at least two stone walls away from Rachel's and Ryan's bedroom.

In the room were a double bed and a small daybed by a window.

"I'll let you decide who gets which bed," Rachel said. "Connor, are you the eldest?"

"Aye, of course," Connor said. Murphy grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off the floor, toppling him onto the day bed.

Rachel laughed at them. "Tomorrow we'll go shopping. Ryan wants you to have work boots and coveralls. Then we'll sightsee for a few days. Ryan won't put you to work until Monday, when they start cutting the grass."

They went downstairs and brought their bags up, then helped Rachel wash up after their tea. She showed them how to load the dishwasher and turn it on, then gave them a tour of the farmhouse.

"When we moved in here seven years ago, it was a tip! On this floor, there are four rooms. Used to be twelve. Same thing upstairs. We gutted it completely. Only one bath, I'm sorry to say. Ryan takes his bath before supper, I take mine after. It takes a while to get the water hot in the morning."

Like all old, large farmhouses, there were two entrances: the rear entrance into the kitchen, and a little-used front entrance near a small parlour crowded with formal, ugly furniture.

They retired instead to the "family room," which had a fireplace, a television, and modern furniture. Rachel was full of questions about their schooling, their friends, and what they did with themselves.

It seemed moments before it was time to get ready for supper. Only Ryan and Andy returned; Leanne had gone home.

Murphy couldn't figure out who Andy was. He did not defer to Ryan, even though he was apparently working for him. Perhaps he was a distant relation?

While the farmhouse was far more comfortable than he had anticipated, Murphy didn't expect them to have an easy time of it once the work started. The days would be long and hard, even if frequently punctuated by ham sandwiches and chocolate cupcakes. Ah, well. There was nothing to do in this godforsaken land but work.

After supper, Andy left for home, which was a small cottage half a mile away, and Ryan went to check on the cows, now all tucked into the milking barn. He came back an hour later, had his bath, and they had yet another meal, a comparatively light one: leftover roast beef from dinner the day before, buttered toast, horseradish, and pickles.

Murphy was drowsy when they went to the family room to watch the news on television. They had been up since six that morning, and he was feeling the effects of the journey, the food, and the excitement of being somewhere new.

When Rachel said she and Ryan were turning in soon, he and Connor went upstairs to their bedroom. It was nine thirty and still light out. They hadn't come much further north, yet it seemed the nights here during the summer were noticeably shorter.

Connor pulled down the covers of the double bed, stripped himself naked, slid between the sheets, and pulled them up to his chin. He let out a contented sigh.

"Fucker," Murphy said. "You're taking this bed?" He knelt on the double bed and glared at Connor.

"I am," Connor said. "Is there a lock on the door?"

Murphy turned to look, and Connor tackled him, covering Murphy's mouth with his hand.

"Not a sound," Connor whispered. "I locked it already."

Murphy licked the hand covering his mouth.

"I've always wanted to fuck in a proper bed," Connor said. He removed his hand and kissed Murphy quickly. "Make your bed look slept in. And get the lotion out of my bag."

Murphy hurried to Connor's duffle, rummaging through it until he found the lotion. Then he got on the smaller bed, thrashed around, and returned to Connor's bed. He put the lotion on the nightstand, stripped off all of his clothes but his socks, and slid under the sheets next to Connor.

He stroked Connor's chest and shoulders, postponing the amazing moment when their bodies touched, and he would feel all of Connor's naked skin against his.

Connor was smiling at him, as if he knew what he was looking forward to. He rolled onto his stomach, pushed the sheets down until his arse showed, then looked at Murphy.

Murphy's gaze fixed on Connor's arse. He ran a hand slowly down Connor's back.

Connor laughed. "You look so fucken serious, Murph."

"Shut it. Not a sound, you said." Murphy buried his face in the small of Connor's back and breathed in. Connor knew what the sight of his arse did to Murphy. He'd _have_ to fuck Connor now.

A few days after the first time Connor had fucked him, he had returned the favor. It hadn't been easy. He knew Connor had felt pain at first. But then… Jesus fucking Christ.

He felt a tremor run through him as he heaved himself up and over Connor. Connor moved his legs to help him kick the blankets down to the foot of the bed.

He held Connor's shoulders and settled on top of him, sighing at the feel of Connor under him, of his cock pressing against Connor's arse.

"How bad do you want to fuck me?" Connor said.

Murphy bit his ear softly, then harder, until Connor said, "Ow!"

"So bad that…" Murphy's voice trailed off.

Once in a while, Connor got in a teasing, knowing mood. Murphy usually returned the teasing, but sometimes he couldn't, because he was too desperate to waste time talking. Like now.

He spit in his hand and rubbed his fingers between Connor's arse cheeks, pushing in slightly with a finger. Then he awkwardly reached for the lotion bottle with one hand, supporting himself with the other.

Connor held up a hand, so he squeezed the lotion into his twin's palm, put the bottle down, rubbed his hand on Connor's to spread lotion on his own, then lubed his cock.

Murphy settled between Connor's legs, held the base of his cock, and slid the head over Connor. Connor would let him know when he was in the right spot.

Connor reared up slightly under him, and he pushed hard, sliding in halfway.

They had been using only spit. With the lotion, Connor's hands hadn't clenched the bed hard the way they usually did. And Connor hadn't groaned loudly. He had only grunted a bit.

He held still, waiting for Connor to relax. The first time, Connor had tears on his face afterward. Murphy didn't want to hurt Connor like that again.

He had tears on his face after, too, but for a different reason.

He had cried because he had been so fucking grateful. Did Connor know? He must. Must know Murphy worshipped his arse. Wanted to sleep at night with his head pillowed on it. Maybe he could tonight, on this big bed.

"Come _on_, Murph," Connor said, his voice so low Murphy could barely hear it.

Murphy slid his arms under Connor's arms, and interlaced his fingers on the back of Connor's neck, his hands palm side down.

"Fuck," Connor croaked. He tried to rear up again, to make Murphy sink in deeper, but he couldn't, not with Murphy's hands pressing down on him.

Murphy was still not moving, or at least not moving much. His hips jerked every few seconds, pushing himself a little further in each time. That couldn't be helped.

He breathed in slowly, exhaled, and moved at last. His mind, almost blanked by lust, still registered it was different this time. For once he could move faster than Connor could react. Connor wasn't gripping him the way he usually did, so hard Murphy could barely budge.

His brain melted further when Connor struggled to his knees, spread his legs apart, his chest and face on the bed, held there by Murphy. His back bowed in an unbelievable bend, as if Connor's arse was the only part of him that mattered.

The first time Connor had moved like that, when Murphy had been licking his hole, Murphy thought he might die from the need he felt.

He fought back the sounds rising in his throat. He was sure their cousins were sleeping soundly after their strenuous day, and they were a long way off, but just in case, he needed something in his mouth _now_.

He pulled his hands off of Connor's neck and Connor immediately lifted his upper body, straightening his arms and leaning on his hands. Murphy rested his chest on Connor's back and bit the back of his twin's neck, just behind the tattoo of the Blessed Mother.

"Connor." He said the word like a prayer, and said nothing more. The word _Connor_ held everything he needed to say.

Connor didn't say anything at all. He was too far gone, in that place where only Murphy put him. Murphy moaned uncontrollably once, stopping himself by biting Connor again. The unfamiliar slickness let him go deeper, move faster, and he couldn't take it much longer.

He lifted one hand and grasped Connor's cock, nearly smiling when Connor froze, trying to decide which he wanted more: to push back onto Murphy's cock, or to push forward into Murphy's hand. Murphy decided for him, moving his hips fast and hard, rocking Connor forward.

He almost lost his grip on Connor's cock when Connor's upper body abruptly collapsed onto the bed. Connor moaned desperately into a pillow. The sound shot through Murphy's body, and he was coming, trying not to shout and failing.

He collapsed on Connor, then slid off him as soon as he could move again. He had fucked Connor hard, made him moan as he came, and now it was time for Murphy's reward.

Connor rolled onto his side to face him and kissed his forehead, then his mouth, then embraced him, squeezing Murphy hard. Then Murphy felt it: Connor's flawless, unlimited love. He kissed Connor deeply, both of them moving slowly and clumsily post-climax.

"You look so fucken serious, Connor," Murphy whispered. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

"Murph sleepwalks sometimes. When he's knackered. Our Ma should have told ya," Connor said.

Rachel and Ryan exchanged a glance that Murphy recognized immediately. _That damned useless drunk._

"Sorry I woke ya," Murphy said, opening his eyes wide, trying to make them look round and innocent. He did sleepwalk at times, but it hadn't happened for years.

Murphy bit his lip in frustration. They'd have to be careful from now on. Connor and his fucking arse!

"Don't fret yourself," Rachel said. "I was already up."

"She's up two, three times a night. For Christ's sake, tell 'em," Ryan scolded.

"I'm pregnant," Rachel said, and blushed. "Almost six months."

"About fucken time!" Ryan boomed. "It wasn't for want of trying, God knows."

Murphy joined Connor in staring at Rachel with naked curiosity. It explained her lumpy shape.

"It's all been fucken lies, what I told your Ma," Ryan said proudly. "I don't need help on the farm. In two weeks, Rachel will start her bed rest, doctor's orders, and she'll need help managing the house."

Connor turned red. Murphy felt his face burn. Ryan burst out laughing.

"Not you two. Leanne. I figure the two of you wastrels can take up her slack on the farm. She'll be staying with Rachel. Soon, or I'll be giving Rachel five fucking arguments." He spread his fingers, then made a fist and waved it threateningly at her.

Rachel ignored him and stood up. Connor and Murphy rushed to clear the table, insisting she sit back down.

* * *

They spent the next few days sightseeing and shopping with Rachel. She was ecstatic to have company. Even two seventeen-year-old boys were a godsend to her.

They tried to prevent her from buying them things, then finally gave up in resignation. It was a fact: compared to them, their cousins were rich.

As soon as they had crossed into Northern Ireland, the roads were suddenly broad, smooth, and newly paved. Every town looked prosperous. The farms boasted the latest equipment. They had never thought the Republic poverty-stricken, but seeing the contrast was a shock to them.

Their cousins' luxurious farmhouse was nothing unusual in the area. The size of the dairy farm was respectable, nearly two hundred acres. Ryan farmed it together with two of Rachel's brothers—the farm was her family's, not Ryan's. Ryan had, Rachel assured them, married her for her land.

Murphy didn't believe it. As old as she was, he could see why any man would marry her. Her good humor was unfailing, her energy boundless, and her cupcakes were unbeatable.

* * *

The deceptively simple sounding chore of "cutting the grass" began.

It wasn't like mowing a lawn. The ground was uneven, the grass two to three feet high. Andy, Ryan, and even Leanne took turns driving the tractor that pulled the blades. He and Connor were always the ones forking the grass onto the bed of a truck.

Rachel's two brothers and their families combined forces with them, so Murphy and Connor were in and out of their homes, including Leanne's home, for the huge teas they ate every three hours.

The work was so demanding that, in spite of the five meals he and Connor ate a day, they lost weight. They were exhausted and in bed by nine thirty each night.

The cut grass was unloaded into bunker silos, where it fermented and turned into "silage," throwing off dangerous amounts of nitrogen and nitric oxide in the process. Silage was the main source of feed for the cows during the winter. When the cows ate it, they got very merry indeed.

They got drunk.

The notion of drunken cows disturbed Murphy. The slow-moving, mindless cows already reminded him of zombies in a horror film.

When they weren't working in the fields, they ran errands with Rachel. Their only day off was Sunday, when they went to church, after which they consumed a huge noontime meal, which always included roast chicken, gravy, and potatoes. This was followed by a nap, a couple of hours of television, supper, then sleep.

* * *

Murphy was sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating cupcakes, when Leanne came into the farmhouse and sat at the table across from him. She stared at him, a slight smile on her face.

She had made him nervous like this dozens of times, looking at him as if she expected him to do something. He knew what she wanted. Hand holding. Kissing. Tender words. Touching above the waist only, because she was a good girl.

If she had wanted sex, he could have given it to her. He couldn't give her what she wanted, which was love.

Muttering a lame excuse, he left, and walked down the road that led to Andy's cottage. They had been by the cottage many times in the farm trucks, picking Andy up or dropping him off. Andy had his own car, a battered Renault, but it couldn't manage most of the roads on the farm.

Murphy didn't intend to go to Andy's cottage, or anywhere else. He just needed to get away from Leanne.

To his right was a field full of cows, more than a hundred of them. He noticed with alarm that the gate to their field was open.

As if they were one huge beast with a hundred heads, the cows turned to look at him. As one, they started to walk toward him.

Murphy walked faster. The cows walked faster. They were aiming straight for the gate. He broke into a trot, fleeing to the farmhouse, beyond which lay the milking barn.

When he was nearly to the farmhouse, he forced himself to turn and look. All the cows had followed him down the road, like the fucking big-eyed zombies they were.

He froze, unsure what to do. If he went to the farmhouse, they'd follow him and trample Rachel's roses, which she loved fiercely. What the fuck was he going to do?

He turned, hearing laughter, and saw Andy walking toward him from the barn.

"Nice of ya, Murph. It's five o'clock, time for the cows to get into the barn for milking. You've saved me the trouble."

He motioned to Murphy to come with him. Murphy hurried toward him, hearing the cows plod, plod, plod after him.

"Come on, fucken cows! This way!" Andy made for the barn. The cows' heads turned, and, like soldiers on parade, they made the quarter turn necessary to get to the barn.

Murphy walked at Andy's side, afraid to move away in case the cows targeted him again. He was ashamed of being terrorized by a bunch of cows, but they fucking scared the shit out of him. They were so stupid they might do anything.

"I hate cows," Murphy said with conviction.

"Of course you hate 'em," Andy said. "Let's go to Cookstown and get a steak tonight. Rare. Fucken bleeding."

Murphy's stomach howled loudly. He was hungry all the time now; physical labor was shite.

* * *

It didn't take much to persuade Rachel of the plan. She had been cooking for weeks on end. Ryan grumbled, then dutifully bathed and changed his clothing.

* * *

Murphy ordered his steak medium-rare and enjoyed every red, juicy bite. Once most of it was in his belly, he looked up at his companions. Ryan and Andy were wearing suits and ties, he and Connor were in roll necks and jackets, and Rachel and Leanne had put on dresses. Leanne's light brown hair was under control for once, neatly combed and tied back with a ribbon.

Murphy now understood why Leanne was too thin: she worked on the fucking farm. All the cupcakes in the world couldn't make her plump.

When they left the restaurant, he and Connor rode back with Andy in his Renault, as Ryan and Rachel were taking Leanne home, and would linger there for a while. Andy drove to his cottage, and invited them in.

Like the farmhouse, the cottage was renovated. Apart from a tiny kitchen and smaller bathroom, it was one large room, serving as both bedroom and living room.

Andy poured himself whiskey and offered them the same. They accepted gratefully; they hadn't drunk any liquor since they had left home. Murphy sat down in an overstuffed armchair and thought: _We should get fucking drunk_. The next day was Sunday, so they could sleep in a little, get up at seven instead of five. He and Connor accepted Andy's offer of a second whiskey, and a third.

Andy put on a record. Murphy listened to it with pleasure, realizing they had heard no music, except for piped-in shite in the supermarket, since they had arrived at the farm.

"Who are they?" Connor asked.

"They're Australian," Andy said. He sat on the couch next to Connor. "Midnight Oil."

"I like 'em," Murphy said so fervently that Connor and Andy laughed. "I do!" he insisted. He was getting a wee bit intoxicated, and it was only his second whiskey. He wasn't fucking used to it anymore.

"You lads enjoying yourselves?" Andy asked.

Connor answered for them. "You mean now? Yeah."

Andy smiled and handed them each a cigarette, lighting them for them.

Murphy leaned back in his chair. This was fucking perfect. Music, whiskey, cigarettes, and he was almost alone with Connor.

"I'm leaving next Monday," Andy said. They looked so surprised he laughed. "For a week, maybe less. Have to. Business."

"What business?" Connor asked.

"The family business." Andy tilted his head back and blew his cigarette smoke up at the ceiling. "In Belfast."

Murphy felt a tiny seed of doubt. There was something strange about the way Andy was sitting on the couch by Connor. Something familiar, and yet alien.

Connor stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. Andy watched him as he did it, and then Murphy knew. Andy reminded him of Connor when they were at a party and Connor was going after a girl.

Murphy felt a jolt go through him in spite of the whiskey, and sat up straighter in his chair. They had run into queers before, soft old men who wanted to give them money. Never a queer like Andy.

Andy was thirty at most, and he was in better shape than any man Murphy had seen. He'd seen Andy shirtless enough times to know. Andy liked to strip when the sun came out. He had a good tan, even better than Connor's.

Another jolt went through him as he realized the way his thoughts were leaning. He wouldn't mind seeing Andy out of _all_ of his clothes.

"What do you think of Leanne?" Andy asked. His face was friendly, his mouth slightly open, showing his strong white teeth.

"She makes me nervous," Murphy said truthfully.

"For fuck's sake, Murph!" Connor spoke warningly.

Andy laughed. "Of course she bloody does. She's after ya."

Murphy automatically denied it. "She hasn't said a fucken word to me."

Connor spoke to Andy. "He's always been clueless about girls. They trip over his feet, trying to fall into his arms, and he runs away."

Andy smirked, and his smirk was so much like Connor's that Murphy grinned, even though Connor was pissing him off. He wasn't fucking clueless, he just didn't want the girls.

"Haven't you taught him anything?" Andy asked Connor.

Murphy and Connor laughed until they hiccupped.

"Everything I know," Connor finally gasped. "But he hasn't met the right girl yet. Leanne isn't the one for Murph."

"You sound certain," Andy said scornfully.

"Course I am," Connor said. "Haven't I fucked her myself?"

Murphy sprayed whiskey out of his mouth onto his lap. Andy mopped him off thoroughly with a towel, then fetched him another whiskey. Murphy clutched the glass and stared at Connor, so many emotions warring in him he could barely concentrate. But there were only two choices. Connor was fooling, or he was telling the truth.

"Out with it," Andy said, looking at Connor with amusement, and a strange kind of pride.

"She kept asking me about Murph, if I would tell him for her that she likes him. I told her she wasn't good enough for him."

Andy nodded his head thoughtfully. "So she wanted to prove she was."

"That's it," Connor said with satisfaction.

"You fucken bastard," Murphy said. He got out of his chair and grabbed Connor's shirt with both hands. "Did you really fuck her? When? Where the fuck was I?"

Connor grinned at him. "Running from cows."

Murphy took a swing at Connor and connected solidly, right on his cheekbone. It was going to swell up something fierce.

"Not in the fucken house!" Andy shouted, as Connor stood up and fell onto Murphy, knocking them both to the hard stone floor.

Murphy scrambled away, upsetting a table and lamp, and got to his feet. Connor was on his feet and charging him. Then he wasn't, for Andy had done something fast with his hands, leaving Connor groaning on the floor.

Murphy yelled with rage as he went for Andy, and found himself on his arse a second later, pain exploding through his right shoulder.

Connor turned over, got in a kneeling position, slowly stood up, and charged at Andy. This time Murphy saw Andy's blow, a swift one on the liver. Connor fell over gracelessly.

His head now throbbing with pain, Murphy stood. Andy was smiling at him. Slowly, it seemed, Andy wrapped his leg around Murphy's, pulled, and Murphy crashed to the floor.

"Are we going to do this all fucken night?" Andy asked. He sat on the couch and poured himself whiskey.

Murphy crawled over to Connor. "Come on," he said. "Both at once. We can take him."

Connor opened one eye, all he could open, as the other was swelling shut from Murphy's blow earlier. "Ya fucken think?"

Andy dragged Murphy towards the bed, then lifted him onto it. Connor was deposited next to him a moment later, then Andy returned with a bag of frozen peas, which he put on Connor's eye. Connor put up a hand to hold the bag in place.

"Will ya teach us how to fight better?" Connor asked.

"And be a party to bloody fratricide?" Andy tugged their shoes off, then walked away.

Murphy closed his eyes and listened to Andy speak into the telephone. _Yeah, they're here. Had a bit of a barney. No, they're all right. Might have to leave 'em. I'll take their room. Yeah, got my keys._

He felt peaceful, listening to the sound of Andy preparing to leave, then his eyes popped open: Andy was planning on sleeping in their bed.

"Don't sleep on the big bed," Connor croaked. "Fucked Leanne on it. Haven't had time to wash the sheets."

Andy's voice came from the vicinity of the door. "Thanks for the tip." The door slammed.

Murphy closed his eyes again. He heard the Renault sputter, fade into the distance, then listened to the strange silence of the countryside. What he missed most was the sound of church bells. The first few nights, he had heard phantom bells ringing in the darkness.

"Did you fuck Leanne?" he asked.

"Of course not," Connor said. "Around here, if you fuck a girl, you're marrying her. Or her da'll blow your head off. Right after her ma rips your lungs out."

Connor turned the bag of peas over, settled it back on his eye, and sighed. "I did a wicked thing, though, Murph."

Murphy said nothing, waiting for Connor to confess.

"She stripped for me, lay down on the bed, let me touch her all over. All because she thought I'd tell ya she was pretty."

Murphy raised his fist to punch Connor, then thought better of it. There wasn't any place left on Connor that hadn't already been punched.

"She looks a lot better naked, Murph. I should at least tell you that. She's got curves in the right places."

"Shut it," Murphy said. "I don't want to hear any more. What you did wasn't that bad, anyway. Nothing worse than what she'd get in a doctor's office."

"I haven't told you all of it," Connor said. "I kissed her, too. And made her come. With my tongue."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Fear gripped Murphy; he hadn't thought about it before, but Connor was right. Around here, sex with a girl was deadly serious. If Rachel's brothers found out, they'd give Connor a beating. A bad one.

"Couldn't help it, Murph. I feel sorry for her. I don't think she ever came before."

"And that's your fucken reason?"

"Yeah. That's my fucken reason. Anyway. She thinks she loves me now, so she'll be off your back."

Murphy groaned. "Ya fucken retard."

Connor rolled onto his side and lopsidedly smirked at him. "I know how to handle her. You don't."

"Like you know how to handle Andy?" Murphy said sarcastically.

Connor looked at him quizzically.

"Andy's after ya, like Leanne's after me," Murphy explained.

Connor grimaced and pressed the frozen peas tightly against his face. "Andy isn't queer, for Christ's sake. You can always tell when a bloke is queer."

"Takes one to know one?" Murphy said. How the fuck could Connor think something that stupid?

Connor punched him. "I'm not queer. If you had been a girl…" Connor turned away, not fast enough to hide his reddening face.

Murphy grinned, his tongue touching his upper lip. _Someday, you'll finish that thought for me._ Murphy let Connor be for now and carefully undressed them both. There was only one pillow, so they shared it.

"I wonder if Andy would let us stay here while he's gone," Connor said. "This is an even better bed. Firm, yet resilient."

Murphy grinned again. "Are you going to hold that fucken bag of peas all night?"

Later, after Connor had fucked him into the pleasantly Andy-scented mattress, Connor muttered into his ear.

"Was going to tell you, before you fucken punched me. Promised Leanne we'd take her to the disco in Cookstown."


	2. Chapter 2

They had been in Northern Ireland five weeks when they went walking across the fields in search of a ruin.

The grass was cut and stored for the winter. Even Ryan had a spare moment now and then.

Rachel had started her bed rest. Leanne took over the cooking, and proved worthy. But she was in the house all the fucking time, and she still made Murphy nervous.

Connor had been wrong. Leanne may have decided she loved Connor, or at least loved his tongue, but it hadn't changed the way she looked at Murphy, as if he was suddenly going to give her a pony or something.

Andy was back so they could no longer use the cottage, and Leanne was staying in the room next to theirs, so things had been fucking sexless most of the time. They were making for the ruin on the edge of the farm with the intention of fucking in it.

Their night at the disco with Leanne had been cheerless. The crowd was Scottish, not Irish, and he and Connor had got hard stares. If they had tried to dance with the other girls, their heads would have been bashed in. Not that they had wanted to. They had never seen such shite dancers in their lives!

Leanne drank two rum and cokes, then declared she was feeling funny and needed to get back to Rachel. She drove them back, as she knew the way best in the dark. As they went through the town's main crossing, Murphy broke into a sweat when he saw gunmen in the road.

Seconds later he registered who they were: British soldiers in uniform, carrying automatic weapons. Leanne stopped the Rover, the soldiers shined a torch on their faces, then waved them on.

"What the fuck was that for?" Murphy asked. He nervously lit a cigarette. He was in the front seat with her; Connor was in the back.

"They're there every night," Leanne said, looking at him with surprise.

"Jesus!" Murphy exclaimed. "Doesn't it fucken bother you?"

Leanne stared straight ahead. "I don't think about it anymore."

As they trudged across the fields, Murphy considered Leanne's resigned expression that night. She was Scottish, not Irish, as were all of Rachel's family. Rachel's family wore kilts, played bag pipes, and did all the other foolish shite Scots did.

For three hundred years, the English had encouraged Scottish Protestants to settle in the north of Ireland. The fiercely anti-Catholic Scots gave England its excuse to steal part of Ireland, taking the north for the United Kingdom in 1921. That unforgivable insult to Ireland spawned the Irish Republican Army and decades of bloody clashes.

But none of that seemed to worry Ryan and Rachel; the coming baby would be raised Catholic. If he was a boy, his name, Rachel had shyly told them, would be Conor Macmanus. That had swelled his twin's head to unbearable proportions—even though an N was missing.

"Murphy," Connor said, and pointed across the field.

Murphy looked at the bunker silo, where grass became silage, without interest. There were a half dozen of them on the farm.

Connor started walking towards it, and Murphy grabbed his coat sleeve. The day had turned windy and was threatening rain, so they had on scarves as well as their coats.

Murphy had heard many tales by now of farmers killed by the gas produced from the fermenting vegetation. Nitrogen made the lungs fill with fluid, and you fucking drowned. It might not even happen right away. There were men who had come home, eaten dinner, gone to bed, and never awakened.

"I don't remember this one," Connor said.

The bunker rose only a couple of feet above the level of the field. The rest of it was below ground, lined with concrete like a swimming pool.

"Yeah," Murphy said sarcastically. "They're all so fucken different from each other."

Connor headed toward it again, and Murphy grabbed the collar of his coat.

"Take another fucken step, and I swear I'll kill you," Murphy growled.

"I've seen Andy out here. At this silo. At night."

"So what?" Murphy kept his hands at the ready to grab Connor again.

"What could Andy do here at night?"

"When did you last see him here?" Murphy asked, stalling for time as he tried to think of a way to knock Connor out without killing him.

"Last night, when I was driving Leanne back from supper with her Ma and Da."

They had learned how to drive from Andy. They now made all the runs into town for groceries, fighting every time over whose turn it was to get behind the wheel.

"You fucken brought us here on purpose," Murphy said.

Connor smirked. "Right you are. Are you coming with me, or are you a spectator?"

Murphy scowled and followed him toward the silo. They walked slowly over the hummocky ground, their trouser legs soaked by the damp grass. They had on the heavy work boots that Ryan had paid for, so their feet were still warm and dry.

"Connor, wait!" Murphy grabbed Connor's arm with one hand, then pointed with the other to the mud, churned by truck tires. They had backed the trucks up to the silos when unloading the grass. Connor was wrong that they hadn't come to this bunker. He started to drag Connor away.

Connor broke free from him, ran the last twenty feet, pulled open a hatch, and dropped out of sight. Screaming with anger, Murphy followed him.

There was a ladder, but he mostly missed it, landing half on Connor, half on the hard concrete bottom.

Connor cursed at length.

"Did I hurt ya?" Murphy asked after a moment. The wind had been knocked out of him.

"No, but you've fucken pissed me off. I was right. There isn't a fucken thing down here."

Murphy took a step backward and stumbled over a box, lost his balance, and landed on his arse.

Connor flicked on a torch, handed the torch to Murphy, and switched on another. Murphy directed his torch at Connor's face, which was of course smirking.

"Hope you're fucken happy now," Murphy said. "Nearly broke my fucken legs."

"And my neck. Come on, let's take a look."

The inside of the silo was stained with past use, but there was nothing to see except for a few wooden crates. Murphy turned and looked at the dimming light coming through the open hatch. It would be dark soon, and he wasn't looking forward to returning to the farmhouse at night. They'd step in cow shit over and over.

Murphy almost missed the streaks of damp across the floor near the crates. He took a closer look, and then he could see it: Another hatch. The crates must cover the hatch; someone had slid them out of the way, hence the streaks, and that meant someone was down there. Or some _thing_.

Not for the first time, he cursed the evening he and Connor spent at Andy's, watching horror movies on his VCR. Why the fuck had they watched _The Thing_? And _Alien_. And _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. He started when Connor approached the hatch.

"I'll fucken kill you, Connor," Murphy whispered. "Don't open it."

"It's just a drain or a pump or something," Connor said. "Bet you a date with Leanne."

"If it's a drain, I have to take her out, you mean?" Murphy whispered.

"Right," Connor said. "To the disco."

"And if it's not?"

"I'll take her to the disco. But you have to come with us." Connor pulled the hatch open, aimed his torch down the broad hole, and froze.

"What?" Murphy said. He grinned nervously. Connor was fucking with him. He was sure of it. There was not a fucking thing down there. He walked to the edge of the hatch, and aimed his torch down, into the unsmiling face of Andy MacNeil.

* * *

For a moment, he felt sheer terror. They had found Andy's dead body, murdered by aliens. They were next.

A more earthly terror formed when Andy came up the ladder. He had a torch of his own, and flicked it on.

Andy had been sitting down there in the dark, listening to them. Murphy bit his lips nervously.

"You all right?" Connor said. "We saw you come in here, and got worried."

Murphy was impressed by the evenness of Connor's voice. He was almost pissing his pants.

"I've been here two hours. That's a long time to worry, and not do a fucken thing about it." A strong smell of whiskey came off of Andy, filling the enclosed space oppressively.

Andy's next words were completely unexpected. "What do you know about your Da?"

"What is there to know?" Murphy demanded, forgetting his fear for the moment.

"Did your Ma tell you how he made his living?"

Connor gave Murphy a warning glance. _Shut up and let me talk._ He looked back at Andy. "She told us he was in the army."

Andy smiled suddenly. "Follow me." He went down the ladder, moving fast.

Murphy resisted an urge to close the hatch and sit on it, and followed Connor down the ladder.

It took his rattled brain only a few seconds to understand what he and Connor were in. A bloody armoury. Hundreds of guns, boxes of ammunition, crates and barrels of God knew what.

Andy switched on an electric lantern, walked to a crate, and sat on it. "Have a seat. Don't fucken smoke. Better yet, give me your lighters."

They handed them over and sat down on adjoining crates.

"Not the Army of Ireland," Connor said. "The Irish Republican Army."

Andy smiled wide this time. "I never met your Da, but Ryan knew him."

"Ryan didn't get us here to work on the farm," Connor said.

"Fucken brilliant, you are. Ryan wanted to meet you both, before deciding what to do. He's still undecided. I told him you were all set to join the Provos, but he's gone soft. Fatherhood is fucken ruining him."

Murphy wondered if it was always going to be like this: Da's past exploding under their noses. He wished they could learn everything at once and end the suspense.

"What next?" Connor said. His hand went to his coat pocket for a cigarette, then quickly withdrew.

"Next, I teach you a few things. How to handle a gun for starters. We'll concern ourselves with what you'll do with that skill—if anything—later." Andy stood up and rummaged through boxes, then returned with a bottle. Putting the bottle to his lips, he took a long drink, then passed the bottle to Connor.

"_Slainte_," Andy murmured as Connor took a gulp. _Health._ Connor passed the bottle to Murphy.

Murphy closed his eyes and took the biggest swallow he could manage. The warmth of the liquor shot through him, his entire body heating instantly. He passed the bottle back to Andy.

When Connor took his second drink, Andy watched him swallow.

Desperate for a cigarette, Murphy chewed on a thumbnail. So what if Andy was in better shape than they'd ever be in their lives? He had no right to be looking at Connor like that.

Murphy admitted to himself that he wondered what it would be like to have sex with an older man, to touch a body that was hard and lean. But there was no hurry; he and Connor would find out when they were older men themselves.

They passed the bottle around three times, then Andy put it away. "Took you long enough. I've lost track of how many times I've popped in and out of here, waiting for you to take notice."

"Why not just invite us to the party?" Connor said, smiling.

Andy reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a long black wicked-looking gun. "I didn't go to Belfast. I went south. Ryan and Rachel had never laid eyes on you, so I had to be sure."

Murphy's body went rigid at the sight of the gun.

"He's not threatening us with it," Connor said in Latin. "Be calm."

"I don't know what the fuck you just said, but for future reference I speak a lot of languages myself." Andy stood up, holding the gun loosely at his side. "Let me see your rosaries."

"Fuck you. You're not touching them," Connor said.

Murphy wished Connor didn't have such a short fuse. What had happened to _Be calm_? Shouldn't they be groveling on the ground right about now?

Andy grinned and tucked the gun back into his waistband. "I was ninety percent sure you're the Macmanus twins. Now I'm ninety-nine percent sure. Fuck off."

They fucked off. Up the ladder, through the bunker, up the other ladder, and out of the hatch, running over the fields nearly all the way back. Connor made them walk the last quarter mile to give their breathing time to return to normal.

Somehow, they sat around the table with Leanne and Ryan and ate the last meal of the day as if nothing had happened.

Rachel and Leanne had to know the underground armoury existed. All of Rachel's family must know; her brothers knew every inch of the farm. They must have built it.

Murphy remembered something Andy had told them the night they drank whiskey with him. _There are Scots who hate the English more than we do. We lost only a part of our country; they lost the whole fucken thing._

He helped Leanne carry a dessert tray up to Rachel, then talked with the two women for a while, explaining that he and Connor hadn't made it to the ruin because the weather was turning foul. As he spoke, it began to rain. There was a shout of glee from Ryan downstairs; the rain was needed, and it had come after they had cut the grass, not during.

As soon as they were in their room alone, Connor locked the door, jumped on Murphy, and tried to fuck him through their jeans.

* * *

Andy wasn't around the next day, or the next. After three days, Ryan said casually that Andy would be back in a week, after attending to family matters.

Andy must have gone to check up on them again, to eliminate his one percent of doubt that they were themselves. The Macmanus twins. It sounded strange, the way Andy had said it, as if they were important.

In Andy's absence, they made themselves at home in his cottage. Connor found condoms and lube in a bedside table and pocketed what they didn't use. They found the lighters that Andy had taken from them. The day before Andy was due back, they cleaned up, restocked the tiny refrigerator with food, washed the sheets, and left.

* * *

The next night, Andy joined them at the farmhouse for supper.

He was in high spirits. Before the meal, he bounded up the stairs and kissed Rachel's cheeks, seized Leanne and kissed her for good measure. Murphy feared for a moment he'd be next; Andy looked that fucking reckless.

They had devoured most of the meal when Connor spoke up. "Your family matter turned out all right?"

"Very," Andy said. He grinned at Murphy until Murphy looked down at his plate. The man was a fucking pervert.

"Glad to hear it," Ryan said doubtfully, seeming to sense an undercurrent to their conversation.

After supper, Ryan produced a bottle of whiskey, and they all had a shot of it. Leanne, greatly daring, had a tiny glass of sherry.

"Leanne, why don't you take a glass of sherry to Rachel?" Andy said.

Leanne stood and left without a word.

Murphy looked uneasily at Connor. There was a tone of command in Andy's voice they had never heard before.

Andy refreshed their glasses, then raised his glass in a toast. "To the Macmanus twins."

The toast drunk, Andy spoke to Ryan. "I'm going east. The lads will go with me."

"I need them here," Ryan said.

"I need them more," Andy said.

There was an unpleasant silence. Murphy chewed on a fingernail.

"Do you want to go, lads?" Ryan asked. He was already slumped in resignation.

"Where would we be going?" Connor asked.

"Belfast," Andy said.

"How long will we be gone for?" Murphy asked.

"A month," Andy said.

A fucking month! When they returned, it would be time to go home soon after. He exchanged another glance with Connor.

"Murph and I would like to go, but only if it doesn't inconvenience you, Uncle Ryan." Connor's tone was as formal as his words.

Ryan shrugged. "Just don't…"

They waited for him to continue, but he rose and walked heavily out of the room. They heard him slowly trudge up the stairs, and slam a door.

Andy grinned. "Get packed. Bring everything. We won't have time for washing clothes."

* * *

Early the next morning, they left in Andy's Renault.

"You're not heading east to Belfast," Connor said after a few miles.

"I can't go due east, unless you want to end up in Lough Neagh," Andy replied. "We're going west first. Ever been to the west coast of Ireland?"

"Only Connemara," Murphy admitted. They had lived on the sheltered east coast all their lives.

* * *

It was on the wild west coast, in Donegal, that Andy taught them to shoot. He was an efficient instructor, as if he had been doing it for years. They spent as much time maintaining the guns as they did firing them. Before long, they could break them down and reassemble them in the dark with just their fingers doing the seeing.

Andy taught them only a few fight moves. "You're natural born brawlers," he said. "Don't want to fuck that up with half-assed karate. I don't have time to teach you right."

But Murphy's excitement shriveled quickly.

They stayed in a one-room cottage. There were two small beds; Andy took one, and he and Connor took turns sleeping on the other. They were never alone except for their brief and infrequent baths, which meant they were never alone with each other.

Andy wore a concealed gun, even in the small village where they picked up supplies. They ate mostly out of cans. Murphy dreamed of cupcakes and fresh milk.

One night, when it was his turn on the hard, cold floor, Murphy thought about getting on Andy's bed. In spite of what he had told Connor, Andy wasn't after Connor in particular; Andy would take either of them.

But maybe not. Since leaving the farm, Andy had turned professional. Although he warmly praised Murphy's shooting, not once had he given Murphy the look that said _I could eat you in one bite_.

Murphy stayed on the floor. After two and a half weeks in Donegal, they went east to Belfast.

* * *

Murphy had formed an image in his mind of Belfast. It would be enormous, grey, and dirty, a reflection of its troubled history. The city turned out to be disappointingly ordinary, except for the sprawling docks that made it difficult for Murphy to orient himself.

His excitement over following Da's chosen career had evaporated completely. This was no game. Andy never left their sides. They stayed somewhere different each night, the three of them always sleeping in the same room. Andy had his gun with him at all times—even when he was in the fucking bath, probably. It took the bastard only two minutes to wash up.

When they weren't under Andy's watchful eye in a room somewhere, they were under his watchful eye in a pub. He took them everywhere he went, never failing to introduce them to the men he met. The men were never introduced to Connor and Murphy, however. They remained anonymous.

After several of these meetings, Murphy reached the conclusion that Andy was an arms dealer.

When Connor questioned him about it one night, Andy was surprisingly voluble. He explained he used the dairy farm near Cookstown as his base, because it was smack in the middle of Northern Ireland.

"Where do you really live?" Murphy asked.

Andy did not answer immediately. "Sometimes, when you're gone from home a long time, you find out when you get back it isn't home any longer."

Andy's expression was so grim Murphy shut up and settled himself on a couch. He prayed that sleep would come swiftly.

His longing for Connor had ceased to be a mere physical ache. There had been no opportunities at all; Andy was a light sleeper. If Murphy got up to use the bathroom in the night, Andy was sitting up before Murphy had taken two steps.

Murphy cursed silently; without realizing it, he had stretched his arm in Connor's direction, his hand opening and closing futilely. Connor was only eight feet away, but he might as well be on the fucking moon.

* * *

The next day, they went to a pub they had not set foot in before. They ate supper there, then watched football on television.

Andy never looked as if he were waiting for someone. Never seemed impatient, or tired, or angry. Murphy had concluded he wasn't really human.

Two hours dragged by, then an elderly waiter brought them each a glass of whiskey.

"Compliments of the gentlemen in the back," he said.

"May we thank them personally?" Andy asked.

The waiter gestured with his elbow toward the rear of the pub.

Carrying their drinks with them, they went down a short hall, and entered a room furnished as a lounge. In the lounge were three men in their fifties, dressed in ancient suits of dark, indestructible wool. As usual, Andy introduced Connor and Murphy as the Macmanus twins. Murphy was getting used to hearing the phrase.

"I knew your Da," one of the men said. His hairless head was shiny and pink. He motioned for them to sit. A few minutes passed while cigarettes were lit and drinks were poured.

By this time, Murphy understood much of the cryptic conversation. It seemed the scale of what Andy was arranging tonight was far larger than anything he had done before.

During a lull in their talks, the pink shiny man looked at them and smiled in a grandfatherly way.

"You lads can go off for a bit, if you like." His tone made it a command.

"Connor, Murphy. Stay." Andy spoke softly.

They had started to rise from their chairs, and for a moment hovered uncomfortably in a half sitting, half standing position, then Connor sat back down. Murphy followed his example, shooting Connor an angry look. An opportunity to be alone might not come again.

"Until they're back under their cousin's roof, they shall not leave my sight," Andy said.

The pink shiny man laughed. "It makes no difference to me."

The men returned to talking. Murphy watched Andy, and wondered. It hadn't occurred to him that Andy's paranoid behavior since they had left the dairy farm was for their protection, not Andy's.

Murphy knew Andy was using them in some fashion. The men Andy did business with visibly brightened upon meeting them. They were the Macmanus twins, the ultimate ice-breaker. Their Da must have been something, wherever he was now.

* * *

That night, they stayed in a modern, well-equipped flat, presumably the property of one of the men they had met in the pub. It had a full kitchen, a bath, a living room, and two bedrooms, each with a huge bed.

They watched sullenly as Andy did his routine check for surveillance equipment, coming up with more than the usual number of microphones, which seemed to amuse him.

When Andy made it clear they would all be bedding down in the same room, Murphy lost his temper.

"Has it occurred to you we can look after ourselves?" he demanded.

"It hasn't," Andy said.

"Then has it occurred to you we're tired of breathing your farts all night?" Connor said.

Andy smiled. "I'm tired of breathing yours. But until we're back on your cousin's farm, this is how it shall be."

Since leaving the pub, Andy had turned quietly happy. Murphy suspected the deal tonight had been Andy's goal; everything else had been a preliminary maneuver.

His suspicion that Andy had been using them was now a certainty. The bastard could at least give them a night of privacy. Andy owed them; they had helped him make God knew how much money.

A telephone rang and for a moment they all stared at in surprise, then Andy answered it.

"Yeah," Andy said. He listened for a minute, his jaw clenching and unclenching, then slammed the receiver down.

"I have to go out," Andy said. "Don't leave this room, and stay away from the windows, or I'll break your fucken necks."

They nodded, trying to look somber instead of eager.

Andy put on his black leather jacket and checked his weapons swiftly. He had at least three guns on him that Murphy knew of: one in his right boot, one in a shoulder holster, and another down the back of his trousers.

Before leaving, Andy turned and looked at them. "Remember. I'll break your fucken necks."

Then he was gone, locking the door behind him. Murphy leapt on Connor.

"We must talk first," Connor said, pressing himself against Murphy in an unhelpful manner.

"What about?" Murphy said. "That Andy is using us? That he set up something massive tonight?"

Connor's eyes glowed with approval. "We don't have to fucken talk, then." He pushed Murphy flat on the couch and climbed on top of him.

"How much time?" Murphy asked as he wrenched Connor's fly open. Connor wasn't wearing a belt.

"Fifteen minutes? Could be hours, even."

"Thank fucking Christ," Murphy said, and licked Connor's neck. "But we'd better leave our clothes on."

Connor slid his hands under Murphy's shirt to tweak his nipples. Murphy groaned as he grasped Connor's cock. He wrapped his free arm around Connor and pulled him hard to his body, holding him in place for a kiss, a real kiss, with their mouths open and their tongues touching.

The door to the flat opened and slammed shut. Andy was back.

* * *

They struggled into sitting positions. Connor zipped his jeans and Murphy pulled his shirt back down to his waist.

"Don't mind me," Andy said. "I've heard your lips smacking plenty of times. At least I hope it was your lips."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Connor asked. His face was pale, his voice almost shaking. Murphy was too shocked to speak.

Smiling broadly, Andy sat in a chair opposite them.

"Voice activated recorder," Andy said. "In my cottage. I always leave it on when I'm gone. It's near the couch; should have put it under the bed."

Murphy stood up and advanced on Andy.

"Better stop him," Andy said to Connor.

Murphy felt Connor's arms wrap tightly around his chest, and Connor pressing against his back.

"You dirty bastard," Murphy said, his voice unfamiliar to his ears. It was hard, loud, not his own.

Andy held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. He stood and crossed the room to the bar counter, removing a decanter and three glasses from the cabinet beneath it. Murphy stayed where he was, Connor still behind him and holding him in place.

"It threw me for a bit; it's why I was only ninety percent sure at first." Andy poured out three drinks, picked up a glass, and sipped.

"You don't care," Connor said, his words half a question, half a statement.

"You're not children," Andy said. "So it's none of my fucken business, is it?"

"Then why the fuck have we been sleeping in the same room with you?" Murphy shouted.

"Maybe I was hoping to catch you at it," Andy said. He picked up the two untouched whiskeys and held them out.

Connor's arms released Murphy to reach for the whiskey. Murphy took the remaining glass and watched Andy over the lip as he drank from it.

The heat of the whiskey softened the hard knot that was his stomach. Connor stood at his side and put an arm around his waist, as if daring Andy to object, then Connor turned his head to look at Murphy. _Are you all right?_ Murphy dipped his chin down and up in the smallest possible nod. Connor's arm tightened around his waist.

Andy put his empty glass down and took a step toward them. He had the same smile on his face as when he had knocked them on their arses in his cottage.

What the fuck were they doing, anyway, traveling through Northern Ireland, meeting with the IRA, in the company of a fucking illegal arms dealer?

Andy couldn't have always been an arms dealer. He moved like an assassin. He had killed men; Murphy could feel it from him, like a bitter smell.

And now Andy was standing in front of Connor and looking at Murphy, smiling like the dangerous bastard he was.

"When I came in, you had your hand down Connor's jeans. Pick up from where you left off."

Murphy stiffly shook his head, even though touching Connor was what he wanted more than anything.

Andy unzipped Connor's jeans, then his hard, experienced hand was down the front of Connor's jeans. Ahead of schedule. It should have been Murphy's in twelve years' time.

"You both think you're the shit," Andy said in a harsh voice. "The two of you together aren't fucken half of me." He moved his fist swiftly inside Connor's jeans. "You're just what I hate. Both of you. Better-looking than me. Tall as me already. Maybe smarter."

Murphy didn't have to wonder any longer if Connor would like a strong, skilled hand on his cock. Connor leaned on Murphy to keep himself upright. His eyes closed and his head tilted back. He panted with his mouth open. He was beautiful.

One day his own hand would be that hard and rough, fisting Connor's cock, making him come. But Murphy didn't want to wait any longer. He wanted to see Connor pressed against Andy's hard body now.

He gripped the waistband of Connor's jeans and tugged them further down, then stood behind Connor, his hands under Connor's armpits to help him stand. He licked Connor's neck, looking down over his twin's shoulder at Andy's hand on his cock.

Connor, apparently unwilling to touch Andy, reached behind himself and grabbed Murphy's hair. _He's pretending it's my hand._ Murphy put a hand on Connor's arse, shoving his jeans down another inch or two. He slid his hand between Connor's legs, under his balls, until he felt Andy's hand hitting his own. _There's my hand, Connor. _

Andy wrapped his free arm around Connor, his arm going around Murphy as well. Murphy felt the strong fingers dig into his waist. Andy didn't seem satisfied. He kissed Connor hard, pushing his head back onto Murphy's shoulder.

Murphy first knew Connor was coming by his hair, when Connor yanked it hard enough to make him yell, then Connor's body convulsed. His come went all over Andy's clothing, Andy doing nothing to prevent it. Andy stopped kissing Connor, and held one of his arms while Murphy grabbed the other. They carried Connor into a bedroom, lifting him onto the large bed.

Connor appeared to be asleep. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, his face peaceful, his jeans still unzipped and down around his thighs. Murphy pulled the jeans the rest of the way off and covered Connor with a blanket.

Andy grabbed Murphy by his shoulders to turn Murphy toward him.

Many times, Murphy had imagined Andy touching him. That didn't mean he had to do it. But there was a problem—his cock was so hard it hurt, and Connor was having a fucking nap at the moment. So he was more than ready to be shoved backward onto the bed, and to let Andy lie heavily on top of him.

It would be easy to give up, not put up any kind of fight, let Andy fuck him. But Andy had said they weren't even half of him, and that pissed Murphy off. Andy might be thirty, or almost thirty, but that didn't mean he was better than they were. They were the fucking Macmanus twins, after all.

Andy was on his knees, straddling Murphy's legs. Murphy sat up, unzipped Andy's trousers, and pulled them down until Andy's cock pointed straight at his mouth.

He was about to swallow it when he saw a mark on Andy's dick, a round, brown scar. Did Andy have the clap? He and Connor never had to worry about disease, because they were fucking only each other.

"Like my cigarette burn?" Andy said. He combed Murphy's hair with spread fingers, then stroked his neck. "Someone asked me questions I didn't want to answer. Don't worry. I didn't talk."

Andy's other hand dropped down to slowly stroke himself. His thumb rubbed over the head of his cock, then brushed Murphy's lips, pushing into his mouth. Murphy sucked on the thumb and Andy groaned.

He spit Andy's thumb out, held Andy's hips, and sucked his cock into his mouth. He'd had two years of practice, and he'd practiced a lot.

Andy's hands were on his head, flitting around as if he didn't know what to do with them. It was fucking ridiculous.

Murphy pulled away, licking his lips at the unfamiliar taste of Andy. "Connor always pulls my hair." He slid his mouth over Andy's cock again, gasping when Andy gripped his entire head, hair and all, and started to fuck his mouth.

He had his hands on Andy's hips, so he had some control, but it didn't seem to matter. Andy tasted so different, moved so different, it was as if Murphy was giving his first blow job. He felt Connor stir next to him, and almost bit Andy when Connor's hands unzipped Murphy's jeans, finally giving his cock room.

He slid his hands from Andy's hips down into his trousers, then up inside his shirt, feeling Andy's skin as far as he could reach. He had never felt anything like it before. How could a person be so hard all over?

When looking at the few sex magazines he had seen, he had wondered if the dildos advertised, like the double-headed ones, were really any fun. His thoughts had been idle; they had no chance of getting anything like that in Ireland.

Having Andy in their bed was even better, anyway. Like having a six foot tall sex toy that could move.

Andy was going to come soon. Murphy could tell from the tremor in his legs, the tightening grip of his hands. He whined when Andy pushed him away.

"I want to see Connor kiss you." Andy was panting, his hand back on his cock. "No. Connor should blow you. Wait. You should fuck Connor first. Fuck!"

Connor shoved at Andy to get him out of his kneeling position over Murphy's legs. Andy finally made way and lay next to them. He stripped off the rest of his clothing, and yanked off Connor's shirt, then Murphy's, while Connor pulled off Murphy's jeans.

Murphy was already on his back and taking hold of Connor's neck. Connor _should_ blow him; he was in complete agreement.

"Can ya do it?" Andy asked Connor dubiously. "Fucken Christ, he's got a big one." He grabbed Murphy's hair and gave him a fast kiss on the mouth. "I hate you even more now, you fucker."

Connor didn't waste time responding to Andy's question. He settled between Murphy's legs, then lay over him and kissed him. Murphy heard Andy groan again. You could never predict what would get a pervert off. Connor slid down, licking Murphy's rosary on his way, then opened his mouth wide to get it around Murphy's cock.

Oh, shit. Connor was sucking him all-out, hard and desperate. Murphy was going to come too fast. He was already making too much noise.

Rough fingers grabbed his nipples and squeezed hard enough to hurt. He opened his eyes to glare at Andy. Andy squeezed again just as Connor's mouth slid down his cock. There was a fucking point to it, then. Make him hurt a little so he wouldn't come so fast. It wasn't going to work for long.

He growled and panted and swore. Andy grabbed his arms, held them up over his head, and kissed him hard, nearly prohibiting the act of breathing. Murphy was feeling two tongues at once for the first time. His body jerked in response, and Andy shoved Connor away so fast there was a popping sound as Murphy's cock came out of his twin's mouth.

"Fuck him now," Andy whispered to Murphy.

"Fuck _you_," Connor said angrily, but he got on his hands and knees so his arse was facing Murphy. He was conflicted; Murphy could understand that.

His cock was already wet so he pressed it against Connor's arse. He didn't care what Andy did; his cock wasn't coming out of Connor's arse until after he came. He cried out when Andy slapped his cock.

"Use lube, you fucken idiots." Andy rummaged through his clothing and produced a tube of it, which he handed to Murphy.

Murphy squeezed a little on his cock and pressed the head of his cock back against Connor, waiting for Connor to move to tell him he was in the right spot. He howled when Andy slapped his cock again.

"Where the fuck did you learn to fuck?" Andy picked up the lube and got on his knees next to Murphy, behind Connor.

Andy put lube on two fingers and slowly rubbed Connor's arsehole. Murphy groaned and shut his eyes so he wouldn't come just from watching. Andy slapped his head. "Pay attention." He pressed his fingers in halfway.

With two of his fingers buried in Connor up to the second knuckle, Andy used his other hand to squeeze lube on top of his spread fingers. The lube slid down his fingers straight into Connor's arse. Fucking brilliant.

Andy dropped the tube and moved his fingers, as if assessing the amount he had used.

Connor made a whimpering sound. He pushed himself back onto Andy's fingers and Andy slapped his arse warningly. He picked up the tube, stuck his fingers into Connor again, and put in more lube. He twisted his fingers and muttered, "Yeah, that's it."

As soon as Andy pulled his fingers out, Murphy grabbed Connor's hips and went straight for him. He slid in all the way, without the usual burn and drag.

"Better, isn't it," Andy said. He was wanking again, his elbow hitting Murphy's ribs over and over. "Fuck him hard."

Murphy growled, feeling Andy's hand, slippery with lube, touch his arse. He didn't want Andy touching either of them right now, when he was fucking Connor for the first time in weeks. He raised one fist off the bed and slugged Andy hard; Andy swore but seemed to take the hint. He lay flat on his back, wanking slowly, his eyes half-closed as if he were taking aim at something.

The lube made it better for Murphy, but it seemed to be making it amazing for Connor. Connor was whimpering and gasping. Murphy bit the back of his neck, covering Connor with his body so Andy couldn't touch him. He wrapped his arms around Connor's chest, making Connor support their weight. Connor's arms collapsed immediately, but that was all right.

Nothing was going to stop Murphy now. He bit down on Connor's shoulder, angry because his orgasm was going to rip through him too soon and end what Connor was feeling. He slid one hand down Connor's belly, until it bumped his twin's cock, already hard again. He howled in frustration as his orgasm tore through him, his hipbones slamming against Connor's arse. They rolled sideways, staying joined.

Andy left the bed, then came back into the room with towels, which he tossed at them. Murphy looked at Andy's hard cock and grudgingly admired his self-control. His arms trembled as he pushed himself a few inches away from Connor and wiped them both off. An orgasm like the one he had just had would probably cut short his fucking life span.

When Andy pushed Murphy onto his back and moved his legs onto his shoulders, Murphy smiled: Andy had figured out Murphy would kill him if he tried to fuck Connor. Of course, Connor might try to kill Andy for this; he didn't know. Wasn't his fucking problem.

Connor didn't seem homicidal. He pushed two fingers into Murphy's arse, his face intent as Andy squeezed lube on the backs of his fingers. Murphy hissed as the cold lube slid into him. Connor pulled his fingers out, then Andy rolled a condom over his cock and pushed into Murphy.

Andy pressed down over him until their chests were almost touching. Andy was all the way in him, and the bastard was grinning, as if Murphy had never had his arse fucked before and was going to love him for it. Murphy _was_ feeling something very like affection, but it wasn't going to last, was it? Only as long as the fuck.

He closed his eyes and let his hands wander over Andy. Connor would feel just like this when he was thirty, this lean and this hard. He smiled when he felt Connor's tongue on his ear, then Connor managed to get his head under Andy's and kissed Murphy's mouth.

Andy's thrusts made Murphy grunt, puffing his breath into Connor's mouth. Murphy slid a hand down onto Connor's hard cock. Two tongues had been nice, but two cocks were even better.

Connor had never fucked him like this, with his feet over his head, nearly touching the bed. Andy's panting was getting louder and louder, until each breath was a shout, then he roared and dug hard with his hips, making Murphy cry out.

Connor shoved Andy away and got on top of Murphy and kissed him.

Andy pulled his condom off and threw it on the floor, then searched for a dry spot on the towels.

"You should blow Connor now," Andy said to Murphy. "No, let him fuck you. Wait. I'll blow him. Christ!" He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard.

Connor punched Andy's shoulder. "Get a hold of yourself, man. Jaysus! We've got all fucken night."

"Right you are," Andy sighed. "I'll blow you, then. Then I'll stick my tongue so far up Murphy's arse he screams. _Then_ you fuck him."

* * *

They ate breakfast the next morning in a weary but comfortable silence. Murphy felt differently about Andy now, after fucking him. Andy had called him foul names as Murphy pushed in, but had called him fouler names when he tried to stop, so Murphy hadn't.   
Today they were driving back to the farm. In a few days, they'd be going home and starting school again. For the first time, Murphy felt too old to go back to school.

On the way to the farm, Andy taught them all the words in Spanish, French, and Italian that the sisters hadn't. Then he tried to teach them Russian. They had made decent progress when they reached the edge of the farm, and Andy's cottage.

Andy unloaded their bags, but not his own. "I have to be back in Belfast tonight. You can stay here while I'm gone. Tell Ryan for me."

Andy drove off without entering the cottage, or saying farewell. They stood in the road and watched the Renault until its lights were out of sight.

It was late, after nine, so they went straight to bed. They'd go to the farmhouse in the morning, in time for breakfast. Murphy considered whether or not they should hunt down the bugging equipment and disable it, but decided not to. They'd leave it as a surprise for Andy when he got back. Fill the whole fucking tape.

** _Two months later_ **

"Just what the world needs," Ma said. "Another fucken Irishman." She tossed the light blue envelope across the kitchen table at Connor. Murphy snatched it up first, and read the birth announcement inside. Connor Murphy Macmanus. Seven pounds, seven ounces. Born to Rachel and Ryan Macmanus in county Tyrone.

He handed the envelope and announcement to Connor and listened to him cackle at the name. Then Connor snorted loudly, and laughed too hard to speak. He pointed at the small snapshot that had fallen out of the envelope.

Murphy examined the picture of the wrinkled red baby. He had heard that newborn babies always had light hair and light eyes. But there was something about the baby's face that made him sure the lad's eyes would remain that shade of green.


End file.
